


Something Pretty While You Can

by squeeliferuiner



Series: Compromise [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack Pairing, Feels, Female Loki, Fluff, Lokiwell, Multi, Romance, Shapeshifting, The fluffiest fluff ever, accidental RP, mpreg but only sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeeliferuiner/pseuds/squeeliferuiner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jasper gives Loki the schmoopiest, fluffiest Christmas present ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Pretty While You Can

**Author's Note:**

> Skips in time a bit from previous scenes. There will be more in between but I was impatient to get this published.
> 
> Beta'd by CelticArche and Aitara, except for the last 2000 words, which needed to be rewritten.

Christmas Eve. Snow is falling gently over the city, big fat fluffy flakes that paint everything in a coat of soft white. By tomorrow it will be dirty gray slush, but for today, at least, it’s beautiful.

Sitwell watches the snow swirl and eddy outside the window of his bedroom, a contented look on his face. Loki is curled up against him in the wide bed, his cheek pillowed on Sitwell’s shoulder, his eyes half-open and watching the track of his fingers as they brush lightly back and forth over Sitwell’s chest. Sitwell’s hand strokes across Loki’s back, stopping to knuckle into the base of his spine, where he’s been complaining of aches. Loki makes a soft noise and presses back against his hand.

“That feels marvelous,” he murmurs.

Sitwell smiles. “Good. Glad I can help.” He presses a kiss against Loki’s hair. “Have you got any plans for today?”

“Just the usual mischief and mayhem. Nothing that can’t be rescheduled. Why?”

“Because I have a present for you.” Loki peers up at him in puzzlement. Sitwell grins. “A Christmas present.”

“I still do not understand this Midgardian holiday,” Loki complains. “It is even more complicated than the mythos we’ve left behind on your planet. Your Captain America attempted to explain it to me, but we kept disagreeing on how many gods there were, so needless to say the explanation did not get very far.”

Sitwell laughs. “It’s mostly just an excuse to get together with family and friends and give each other gifts,” he says. “Don’t worry about the religious part. The early Christians adopted a lot of older traditions from other religions when they were trying to spread theirs. That’s how most faiths spread on our planet, actually, you borrow from the native religion so yours doesn’t seem quite as foreign. Just wait till we get to Easter. It makes even less sense than Christmas.”

Loki frowns at him. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. And I have a Christmas present for you.” He strokes Loki’s hair. “Remember how you’ve been wanting to get out of the Tower? I have arranged for us to spend the day together out and about. I have a couple of specific things planned and otherwise I thought we might just see where the wind takes us. Like a date. A real date.”

One of Loki’s brows arches upwards. “Intriguing.” He gestures down at himself. “In my usual form?”

Sitwell shrugs. “Up to you. I have to spoil one of the surprises slightly, though – one of the things I had planned for us was massages – would you be okay with a mere mortal working you over? And if you are okay with that, you may want to use your female form for that, because the woman with whom you have an appointment for a pregnancy massage won’t be expecting male bone structure. That is, however, entirely up to you; I have been assured that this place is discreet and can handle anything we throw at them.” He grins. “They’ve worked with Stark before.”

Loki just stares at him in surprise, then shifts up to kiss him thoroughly. “You,” he breathes against Sitwell’s mouth, “are a delight. Yes, that will be fine, and yes, that is a good idea. Actually, I may just shift to that form for the day; I carry the baby a little more easily when I have the hips for it. But thank you for letting me choose it.”

He suits actions to words, and suddenly Sitwell has a pillowy armful of gorgeous pregnant goddess, and “yes, you certainly _do_ have the hips for it,” he murmurs, running his hand appreciatively over her hip to squeeze her backside, “not to mention _these,_ ” and his other hand cups a breast and she wriggles against him and his breath catches in his throat. And then her laughter is echoing in his ear as she pulls away and stalks naked toward the bathroom.

“Take a girl on a date first, Jasper.”

He watches her go, smiling to himself, then stretches and gets himself out of bed, grabbing his glasses. He finds jeans, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, black flannel, thick socks. Adds boots. He looks at himself in the mirror. The goatee is finally looking respectable, at least, although he thinks maybe he should do something about what he affectionately refers to as his “nerdvision goggles” someday.

Behind him, Loki’s come out of the bathroom and is donning black trousers and a soft green sweater that clings to all the right places. He turns, watching her, eyes catching on the thick cascade of black hair as she rescues it from the neck of the sweater, her long-fingered hands escaping the sleeves, the way those same hands smooth the knit fabric over her belly, lingering with the small smile she often wears when she’s focused on the child she’s carrying. And then she’s looking up at him, her green eyes bright and happy, and she steps toward him and wraps her arms around his neck, and he tilts his head to look up at her – even in this form she’s tall, taller than he is – and cups her face with one hand.

“You look amazing, Princess,” he murmurs. Her lips curve into a grin.

“So do you, husband.” She leans in and kisses him. “Where are we off to first?”

Sitwell glances at his watch. “Late breakfast, I think, and then Central Park.” He pulls away from her reluctantly and fetches scarf, knit hat, warm gloves, thick coat. She pulls on her boots over her trousers and fetches her own coat and scarf.

A few moments later, they’re pulling out of the Tower’s parking structure in Sitwell’s entirely-too-sensible Prius. “We never did get to New Mexico for that pancake date I promised you,” he says, navigating carefully into the stream of traffic, “but I know a place not too far away that makes really great crepes, so I figured we could do that instead.” A short while later – it’s Christmas Eve and after rush hour, so traffic is relatively light – he’s pulling up to the curb outside a little restaurant at 109th and Columbus and holding open the door for Loki, who sniffs the air appreciatively as they enter.

Quickly they’re seated, Sitwell helping Loki out of her coat, and orders for coffee (Sitwell) and hot chocolate (Loki) are taken, and menus lie open in front of them. When the waitress returns with their beverages, Sitwell orders savory crepes with roasted chicken, basil cream, spinach and mushrooms, and Loki orders crepes with Nutella, bananas, and fresh strawberries. And a side of quiche, which would ordinarily be a meal all by itself, but she’s got a handy excuse as she rests one hand on her belly, and this is New York, so the waitress doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

Sitwell finishes adulterating his coffee with sugar and cream, stirring with one hand as his other reaches across the table for Loki's, who accepts it obligingly enough. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and he smiles at her.

“A real date,” he says softly. “You know, I think this is actually our _first_ date.”

Loki smiles back at him. “An odd custom, you know. This is not how marriages tend to happen on Asgard. Many marriages are arranged. For those that aren’t, yes, the couples spend time together, but not as a pretext toward sex as it is here. All your Midgardian dating seems to simply be a game to see how long it takes to get the other into bed.”

Sitwell raises an eyebrow.

Loki shrugs. “I got bored and started reading magazines. I was not impressed by the sex tips in _Cosmopolitan_. If a woman did some of those things to me, she would end up seriously injured.”

Sitwell’s trying very hard not to laugh, and not succeeding very well. “You read _Cosmo_? Seriously? I need to get you better things on your tablet. How did you even get a copy of _Cosmo?_ ”

“Found it in the common area. This isn’t what they teach Midgardian women, then? I was beginning to question my decision not to destroy your planet.” Loki takes a sip of her cocoa, retrieving her hand from Sitwell’s and wrapping both hands around the cup.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?” Sitwell asks mildly. “So far as I know, none of the women I’ve dated have had subscriptions to it, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t.”

Loki makes a non-committal sound as their food arrives. Her plates take up her entire half of the table. Her eyes widen in green-tinged happiness as she picks up her fork and takes the first bite of the Nutella crepe, and her smile is one of sheer bliss. Sitwell could watch that expression all day and not get bored. Loki notices and gives him a curious look. “What?” she asks around a mouthful of food. “You’re staring at me.”

“I just like seeing you happy. You’re always gorgeous, but you light up when you’re happy.” Sitwell sips at his coffee, then sets the mug down and starts in on his crepes.

Her cheeks take on a faint pink tinge. “Oh.” She glances back at him, a bit shyly, and turns back to her food, hiding a smile.

After they’ve finished, savoring the last bites – Loki did, in fact, clear off her entire spread of plates and also stole the last half of one of his crepes – Jasper pays, and they rise to leave. He helps her back into her coat, hands lingering as they smooth the wool over her back.

She starts to walk back to the car, a few feet away, when he catches her hand and pulls her in for a crepe-flavored kiss.

“Actually,” he murmurs against her mouth, “we’re not going back to the car just yet. I have something else in mind.”

She looks at him with a faintly amused expression. “Oh?”

He nods. “Are you up for a short walk?”

She makes a face at him. “I can probably walk considerably farther than you can, even in my current condition.”

He shrugs. “Just checking! I don’t want to wear you out early. There’s a whole day ahead of us yet.” Lacing his fingers through hers, he sets them off heading east on 109th, arriving just a few blocks later at the northern end of Central Park. He watches her surreptitiously, delighting in the change that comes over her face when she sees the spread of trees and land and the vast expanses of snow covering everything. The snow is still falling, heavy, wet flakes sticking to her hair and her coat and her scarf as she pulls away from him and dashes a few feet away to twirl about in them, sticking her tongue out to catch snowflakes on it, laughing in sheer joy. He feels a grin break out over his own face. The sound of her laughter spreads a soft hum of warmth through his middle, a quiet ache of wanting somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

She moves back over to him, her eyes  alight. “I missed being outdoors like this,” she says softly. “The trees and the land and the snow. It’s beautiful, Jasper.” She kisses him, and she tastes like cold and snow and ice and something wild and beautiful all at once.

As they break apart for air, he entwines his hand with hers again. “I can’t take credit for the park or the snow,” he says, “but I was hoping you’d like it anyway. Where I want to go is a bit further in, but we can take our time getting there.” He glances at his watch. “Well, a little bit, anyway.”

“Okay.” She gives his hand a squeeze and turns to walk beside him. “How long can we stay here? I would like to stay all day.”

He squeezes back. “Not all day, we will have the massages later, and I don’t tolerate the cold as well as you do. But a few hours, anyway.”

“Good.” She grins at him.

A few minutes later, they near a large enclosure, shouts and laughter coming from within the fences. “This is what I wanted to do. Have you ever been ice skating?”

She looks at him with vague suspicion. “Is that a trick question?

“Why would it be a trick question? Oh,” vague realization dawns, “because you’re…” he trails off, gesturing at the snow. “No, it isn’t. This is an ice rink, I thought we could go skating. Because it’s fun?” He looks at her so earnestly that she can’t help but relent.

“Oh, all right. No, I haven’t ever skated on ice. It’s not cold enough in Asgard and Jotunheim is surprisingly unsuited to such a thing.” She gives the rink a dubious look. “I suppose I could try it. How does it work?”

“We rent skates and then…skate?” He shrugs. “And try not to run over any small children.”

She raises an eyebrow, but follows him over to the window willingly enough, even giving her shoe size politely enough to the pimply kid behind the counter, and then follows Sitwell over to a bench. She runs a finger along the edge of the skate blade experimentally. “That’s not very sharp, is it?”

He glances up from where he’s lacing up his skate boots. “Sharp enough to do some serious damage. Careful.”

She gives him a look of fond exasperation before following suit and stripping off her boots and stuffing her feet into the skates. She laces them up, muttering imprecations at the frayed ends of the boot strings, and he catches a small gesture off her fingers before the ends knit up neatly and then lace themselves into the eyelets and finish in a neat bow. She gives him a look of complete innocence, then stands up and takes a step toward the rink. He’s up on his feet catching her as she wobbles and nearly falls over.

“Are you quite sure this is safe, Jasper?” she asks as she steadies herself against him. “I mean, I’m a bit pregnant here. I don’t want anything to happen to our child.”

“I think you’ll be fine once you get onto the ice. It’s just hard to walk in skates, is all. Now hold still and don’t fall, and I’ll finish getting my skates on and we can go.”

A moment later he stands again, and takes her hand. Carefully, they make their way to the edge of the rink. She steps onto the ice gingerly, arms flailing to catch her balance as her feet start to slide. Sitwell moves in front of her, facing her, arms out to steady her. She grabs hold of his arms and gives him a very skeptical look. He just grins. “Do you trust me?”

She gives him a side-eyed look. “Yes,” she says hesitantly.

He nods. “Okay. Just hang onto me.” Slowly, he moves on foot backwards, then the other, skating backwards, pulling her carefully along with him. She’s wobbly, his hands grasp her forearms and tighten to catch her more than once, but as they slowly skate, he can feel her starting to balance better, enough that she looks up from where her skates are sliding along the ice to catch his eye and give him a halting smile.

“This isn’t so bad,” she says.

“Told you.” He squeezes her arm reassuringly. “Want to try it on your own?”

She nods, and lets go of his arms. He backs off a foot or so, to give her some space, watches her carefully as she pushes off with her left foot, then brings her right one up to meet it. She makes a small sound of disbelief, then does it again, even moving her right foot a little ahead this time, and then her left, and he’s skating backwards, watching her, and she’s laughing, and he’s grinning ear to ear. The look on her face turns determined, and before he can manage to maintain his distance, she’s skated right into his arms, and kisses him soundly.

He returns the kiss, but breaks it off as the sound of children screeching at each other filters into his brain. “Much as I’d like to continue this,” he murmurs, “better not.”

She pouts, but allows him to take her hand and move beside her, and they move off, skating slowly side-by-side. They’re almost back to where they started when a near-miss with a child careening out of control sends Loki’s feet sliding away from her, and she tumbles down in a flurry of limbs and hair and flying scarf ends before Sitwell can catch her, landing square on her backside. Sitwell’s immediately there beside her, helping her back up.

“Are you hurt? Is the baby okay?” he asks.

She shakes her head no, she’s not hurt, but she’s looking past him, and he catches the narrowing of her eyes as he looks over his shoulder to see the kid who’d nearly run into them laughing and zooming carelessly around other people. He looks back at her just as she starts to raise her hand.

“Loki, no! Please. He’s not worth it.” He grabs her upraised hand in his, takes her chin in the other, trying to get her to focus on him. “He’s just a kid.”

“He is an idiot child,” she says coldly, “who needs to learn a lesson.” Her eyes are still looking past him.

“Yes,” he agrees, “but not like this. I have an idea. It’s not going to be as satisfying for you as your way, but it’ll be more effective for him. Will you let me? Loki. Look at me.”

She drags her eyes to him, frowns. “Fine. If your way doesn’t work, I will use mine.”

“Fair enough. Come on, let’s get you out of your skates first.”

He holds onto her elbow as she skates gingerly over to the entrance to the rink and back over to the bench where they had left their boots, wincing slightly as she sits down. He sits down beside her, helping her get the skates off – it’s harder for her to reach her feet these days – and pulling his own off and his boots back on.

“Just stay here for a sec. I’ll be right back.” He kisses her on the forehead and then turns back to the scene on the ice, looking for – yes, there. The reckless kid waving at a woman in the stands as he passes her. What Sitwell thought he had seen as the kid skated away.

He marches determinedly toward the stands, his eyes locked on the woman – yes, there’s the kid again, waving again, and she’s waving back. And Loki watches him, her fingers twitching, her body tense. She can’t tell what he’s doing, only that a moment later, the woman shoots to her feet and waves and yells at the careless brat, who skates over. She can see the woman gesticulating, and then the boy’s head swivels towards her, and she looks away, as if being aloof might help her stay calm. It’s only for Jasper that she’s managed to show any restraint at all thus far.

She’s zipping up her boots, avoiding the scene on the other side of the rink, when she becomes aware that Sitwell is returning, the woman and her kid in tow. The kid stares at his feet. The woman gulps at the expression on Loki’s face and pulls the kid forward. “Tell her,” she hisses.

Loki glances from Sitwell’s impassive expression to the woman, who looks terrified out of her wits, and the kid. And when he looks up, there’s fear on his face too, and he won’t meet her eyes. “I-I’m very sorry, Miss,” he whispers. “I will pay more attention to where I am going in the future.”

Loki’s eyes flit to Jasper’s. She sees them harden slightly, then widen. She swallows the words on her tongue, then looks back at the kid.

“See that you do,” she says quietly, and rises to her feet. They both back away slightly when they realize how _tall_ she is, and how big her belly is these days, and it’s _almost_ worth it to see them cower. She hides a smirk as she realizes what Sitwell’s done – somehow he’s managed to terrify them both completely, and she has to admit, that’s surprisingly satisfying,

She takes his arm as he picks up their skates by their laces in one hand, and they return to the rental counter. He plops the skates down, and then turns to her. “Are you okay? I know I already asked you, but I want to be sure.”

She chews on her lip for a moment, then nods. “Might have a delightful bruise on my backside for a day or so, but yes, I’m fine. No serious harm done. What in the name of the Norns did you say to that woman?

He grins. “Showed her my SHIELD credentials. We’re a covert organization, yes, but the credentials are frighteningly official. She took from that the inference that if you or the baby were harmed, she and her son might disappear, never to be heard from again.”

Loki’s lips curve up into a smirk. “I see. Devious. I like it.”

“Thought you might. Maybe not as fun as smiting, but I’ll just drop in on them next month sometime and remind them that SHIELD is watching them. We aren’t, why would we, but they don’t need to know that.”

She laughs, with a hint of darkness in it. “Yes, that will do. Perhaps I’ll join you in full armor. What a delightful plan! Oh, I do love you, you know.”

He stops, pulls her around. “You do?” his voice is startled, his face much closer to cautiously blank.

She wraps her arms around his neck. Her eyes search his face for a long moment, then she nods, slowly. “Yes,” she says in a low voice. “I do.”

“Oh.” He studies her, her face serious, her eyes dark with emotion. “Well, in that case, I love you too.”

She smiles, and it’s like the sun comes out. And the aching near his heart settles into something warmer, cozier, and one arm presses her to him and the other hand touches her face almost reverently. “Well, okay then,” she answers softly, and leans in for a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle and yet there’s something fierce about it, in the way her hand grips the front of his coat, the way his fingers tangle in her hair. It’s something new and different and a little bit scary, _what-ifs_ swirling in the air around them amidst the snowflakes. And when the kiss ends, they stand there, her forehead leant against his, eyes closed, breathing in the same cold air, all the shouts and chatter muted, the moment focused on them and them alone.

And when she pulls away, finally, and looks at him, and smiles her usual enigmatic _I know something you don’t_ smile, he takes a deep breath, takes her hand, takes a step down the pathway toward the North Woods.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, a silence made slightly awkward by their respective admissions, because what can you say to follow _that,_ really. She doesn’t say anything when he pulls her off the path and toward a small pool fed by a not-quite-frozen waterfall, just follows him, trusting.

“This is one of my favorite places here,” he says softly a minute later. “It’s just…very peaceful. Normally I go up and sit on the rocks, but with the snow today, I think I’d rather not try it. It’s beautiful in the summer, surrounded by green and the sound of leaves in a breeze. It reminds me of a place I used to go when I was a kid and I wanted to be left alone.”

Loki turns to him. “Thank you for sharing it with me,” she answers quietly. “I am honored.” She looks back over the stream, the waterfall. “There is a place not unlike this on Asgard, where I used to go. The next time you come with me – that will probably be the ceremony after the birth – I will share that with you, if there is time.”

“I would like that.”

Her eyes stay on him, sharp but also pleased. “I am having a really good day today, Jasper,” she adds. “Despite my fall. This has been really nice. Thank you.”

He smiles back at her. “You’re welcome. I was hoping you would like it.” He glances at his watch. “We have a little bit of time before our massages. Maybe we could go find a coffeeshop and warm up a little? I know you’re probably not cold, but I am.”

She nods. “Acceptable, as long as there is hot chocolate. Or ice cream. Or both.”

He grins. “I know just the place. They make frozen hot chocolate.”

“Frozen hot chocolate does not sound possible. Or tasty.”

“You’ll like it. They make hot chocolate, and then they mix it with ice cream like a milkshake. So it’s like a chocolate milkshake only better.”

She shoots him a look of skepticism. He laughs. “The best things are always the ones that sound highly improbable, m’dear.”

“If you say so.”

He merely smiles, and they continue on their way.

\--

She’s impressed by the frozen hot chocolate. She drinks three of them in the space it takes him to finish a large coffee. He makes a mental note to show her to make them back at the Tower.

\--

Soon enough it’s time to leave for their massages. The weather’s starting to take a turn for the worse, the snow stings instead of floats, so he drives very carefully to their next destination, a nondescript office building. They ride the elevator to the seventeenth floor, open a frosted-glass door with a discreet nameplate. Sitwell gives their names to the girl at the desk, who gives them each a clipboard with some paperwork, then helps Loki out of her coat, hanging it alongside his on a nearby coatrack.

They sit. The room is comfortably warm, decorated in soothing shades; harp music tinkles lightly over the loudspeakers. Sitwell takes Loki’s hand; he can feel tension radiating off of her. “Nervous?” he murmurs, glancing her way.

She shrugs. “A little. It is occurring to me how vulnerable I will be.”

He squeezes her hand lightly. “I’ll be right there. This is a couples session, we’ll be in the same room. I told you, this is the place Stark uses – he doesn’t usually come here, they go to him, but if he’s willing to trust them, I am too.”

He turns to his clipboard, checking over the paperwork. She does the same, then frowns. “Jasper, I don’t think I can answer all these questions. Our healing is not the same as yours.”

“Fake it, Silvertongue.” She redirects the frown at him. “Seriously, Loki, the most important thing is that they know where you’re having pain and that you’ve had back injuries before.” Those eyes fix on him in a glare. “Well, you _have._ You don’t have to _tell_ them it was from being Hulksmashed or blasted by Iron Man, but there might still be damage from it. They’ll want to know so they don’t make it worse if there is.”

Loki rolls her eyes and bends over her clipboard. “Fine.” She finishes writing in her elegant scrawl, hands the clipboard back to him. He’s still cataloguing his own history of injuries. He returns both clipboards to the desk, then sits back beside Loki, taking her hand again and weaving his fingers through hers.

A moment later, a slim woman appears in the doorway to the back. “If you’ll both come with me?” They rise and follow her to a medium-size room with a pair of massage tables several feet apart. The room is warm and dimly lit. Soft instrumental music plays from a stereo in the corner. The room smells vaguely of pine with a faint undertone of mint – very Christmas-like, Sitwell thinks.

The woman turns to them. “I’m Jessica, I’ll be one of your massage therapists today. I’ll be working with you, Mr. Sitwell. Holly, our certified prenatal massage therapist, is just finishing up with another client and will be here momentarily. I will leave the room in just a moment so that you may undress as far as you are comfortable. Mr. Sitwell, I’ll have you start on your stomach, face in the cradle. Ms. Friggadottir, you should lie on your side. Either side, it doesn’t matter.”

She turns down the sheets on each table, then leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Sitwell raises an eyebrow at Loki. “Friggadottir?”

“What? It’s my name. In this form, anyway. I am not anyone’s son at the moment, much less Odin’s.”

“Huh. Fair enough.”

He sits on the edge of the table to remove his boots and socks, stripping off everything but his shorts and folding them neatly into a pile that he sets on a chair in the corner. Loki hesitates only slightly before skinning out of everything, piling her things atop his. She arranges herself on the table, facing him, pulls the sheet up over herself. He settles in under his sheet, giving her a reassuring smile.

A moment later there’s a knock on the door. “We’re set,” he calls, and the door opens. He watches both women enter, assessing, then gives Loki a tiny nod before turning his face into the cradle. Jessica folds down the sheet to his waist. “You wrote on your form that you’d like to focus on your upper back, correct?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I’ll start there, then.” Her hands, warm with oil, smooth over his skin. “Let me know if the pressure gets to be too much at any point.”

He closes his eyes, letting the warmth and the scent of the oil and the soft music wash over him, feeling himself relax as much as he ever does. He can hear the other woman asking questions of Loki, and her responses, but he isn’t paying attention, just listening to the sound of her voice, listening as he hears her tone relax too. He turns over when Jessica asks him to, lets her manipulate his arms, pressing into knots around the elbow of his gun hand. He hears a soft sigh of contentment from the other table, and his lips curve up in a tiny smile.

All too soon, Jessica is drawing the sheet back up over him. “Take your time getting off the table,” she says softly. “There is a glass of water for you on the counter to the right of the door. You should drink it all now, and make sure you stay plenty hydrated this evening and tomorrow. Massage can release lactic-acid buildup from your muscles, which can make you feel a little sick; water will help with that. You may have some residual soreness, particularly along your right shoulder and arm; you can ice those areas as needed. Any questions for me?”

He shakes his head no, and she smiles and nods. “All right then. A pleasure working with you today.” Holly’s repeating the same speech to Loki, who answers drowsily, and then the two therapists leave.

Slowly, muscles feeling buttery soft, Sitwell sits up and looks over at Loki, who’s looking up at him sleepily. Her skin gleams with oil in the low light. “Thank you for this,” she says, finally turning and stretching languidly, rolling to one hip and up. He catches her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, then hands over her clothes. “Must I? Oh, all right.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, you can take them off again as soon as we get back to the Tower. The rest of our date is there anyway.”

She arches an eyebrow at him in question. He just smirks, then picks up his water and drinks, slowly, till the glass is empty. He pulls out his wallet and lays down a bill as tip, then they return to the reception area. He pays quickly, and then it’s back out to the car.

They’re both quiet on the drive back, relaxed and content. Thankfully it’s just a few blocks’ drive this time, and then they’re home, and he parks in his spot next to Coulson’s ridiculous Mustang and then it’s back into the elevator, and she leans against him, and he wraps an arm around her waist and nuzzles at her shoulder.

They arrive back at his (their) quarters soon enough. In the time it takes him to get out of his coat and remove most of his weaponry, she’s already naked and sprawled out on a thick fur she’s conjured from somewhere in front of the flickers of the fire JARVIS had started for them in the gas fireplace. He stops in his tracks, watching her move, his mouth suddenly dry – then slowly returns to taking off his own clothes, before settling in beside her, curling up against her back. She takes his hand as he puts his arm over her, and moves it to her belly.

“She’s asleep,” she murmurs quietly. Then she turns over and faces him, her eyes dark in the firelight. “This is the best gift you could have given me, Jasper,” she says, her voice low and rough with emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a day as lovely as this. Thank you.”

He captures her lips in a kiss. “You’re welcome.” His fingers stroke her hair away from her face, lingering on the sharp cheekbones, over her brow. “I love you, Loki.” It sounds new and strange and wonderful. He wants to say it over and over, but at the same time wants to savor it, make it special when he does.

She smiles at him, and her hand strokes down his side, over the oil-smooth skin of his ribs, coming to rest on his hip with just a touch of possessiveness. “I know. I don’t know that I know _why_ you do, but I can accept that it is there.”

“No one ever said it had to make sense. I mean, why do you love _me?_ I’m nobody special.” He shrugs. It’s not self-deprecating so much as just an acknowledgement of how things are. He’s the kind of person you just don’t notice much, quietly getting things done while everyone else is making a splash. He’s turned being underestimated and overlooked into an asset. It doesn’t bother him.

Loki looks at him thoughtfully. Her hand comes up to take off his glasses, her fingers trace over his brow, across his lower lip, along the line of his jaw, come back up to cup his face. “Because you don’t treat me like a monster,” she says softly. “Because, for the most part, you aren’t afraid of me, and it helps me stay calmer. But also because you know what it’s like to want to watch the world burn.” Her thumb strokes over his cheek as he goes still under her touch. “You _understand_ that part of me without my having to tell you about it.”

His eyes are intent on hers. “How do you know that?”

“I see it in you sometimes. Also, I read your file.”

“When did you…? No, no, that’s not important. _How_ did you read my file?” He pulls back from her a little bit. “That’s supposed to be classified and I’m pretty sure you haven’t got clearance.”

She blinks up at him, amusement plain on her face. “I read everyone’s files pretty early on. As for how, let’s just say that while my brother may be an imbecile, I am not. It wasn’t exactly difficult. You _do_ remember that I was able to take a certain surveillance recording and post it on the Internet, yes?”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I don’t think I wanted to know any of that. You know I’m going to have to figure out how to try to keep you out of the system now.”

She scoots closer, pressing her forehead to his. “I did not mean to cause you concern. But I am not sorry that I know more of your history than you have chosen to tell me. You might not have trusted me with it yet, but what I read makes me trust you more.”

That does not actually make him feel better. That it’s his not-so-innocent past that gets Loki to trust him? Incredibly reassuring, that.

“I…don’t know what to say.” He sits up, rubbing his forehead, reaching for his glasses. “I’m not proud of who I was when I was young. I was a dumb, angry kid with a propensity for blowing things up and getting away with it because nobody bothers to notice the quiet ones.”

“And I tried to commit genocide.” She sits up too, back to the fire, legs curled under her, and rests a hand on his knee. “Is that all you were? All you are? Of course not. But it’s still part of you, the part that makes you a good SHIELD agent, and that part of you is the part that looked at me and saw a kindred instead of a monster. It was why I found you interesting at first, but not why I stayed, and not why I love you. Let it go, love. I did not mean to upset you.”

His eyes flick from the fire to her and back. He doesn’t say anything. He still doesn’t know what to say. He’s a little afraid of her. He’s a little afraid of himself. His conscience is clear, for the most part, he’s learned to control and channel his anger. He lives – lived, until Loki – by the book because the rules are soothing, the routines and formulas and procedures help. And yet the people he falls for are always the ones who breed chaos in his order – in Loki’s case, literally, as his eyes trace over her form, the curve of her belly within which their child sleeps.

“You cannot make the shadows disappear simply by attempting to define your life without them,” she says softly, scooting closer to him and trailing her hand up his thigh. “You simply learn to live with them. And that they exist and we know it doesn’t make either of us bad people. We make our choices every day.”

“Yes,” he murmurs back. “We do. And we’re both still here.” He catches her chin with his hand, looks at her for a long moment, studying the open, curious expression she wears. “The Nine only know why.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb, turns away slightly. “JARVIS, the meal I requested earlier. Can you have it sent up now, please?”

The AI acknowledges, and he leans forward the short distance to meet her mouth, He is not gentle – his teeth nip at her lower lip, his hand is hard on her jaw – and she reciprocates, leaving his mouth bruised and swollen but satisfied when she pulls away at the knock on the door. She rises, wrapping herself in illusion to answer the door and tug in a cart full of covered dishes. Once the door is firmly shut and locked once again, she lets the illusion fall and strides regally back over to the fire, the cart following her at a wave of her hand. He gets to his feet and helps unload dishes onto the floor, so everything is within easy reach, a cozy little fireplace picnic.

“I wanted to make dinner together,” he says, “but I figured we might not have the energy for it after the massages, so this was easier.”

There is a steaming hot loaf of bread, with several different spreads and cheeses. There are slices of warm roast beef and cold chicken. There is a bowl of sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocado in a garlic mustard dressing. There is a dish of potato salad and one of strawberries, minus their stems. A chilled dish holds half a cheesecake, drizzled in chocolate. And in a bucket of ice, there is a bottle of sparkling cider (in acknowledgement of the fact that Loki can’t have alcohol for awhile yet) and a pair of tall flutes.

Her eyes gleam, catching his, as she reaches for a strawberry and takes a very deliberate bite out of it. He arches an eyebrow as he slices the bread. “Dinner first, or we’ll never get around to it.” She smirks, folding her legs under her as she reaches for the bottle and glasses and pours carefully. She hands him one, brings hers up in a toast. “To love, then,” she says, “since we seem to be in it.”

He laughs, clinks his glass lightly against hers, sips. “So we are.”

Dinner is a lazy affair, bites of food interspersed with kisses and soft touches. It’s clear as it progresses that they’re both considerably less interested in food than in the process; it’s as Sitwell is feeding Loki the last of the strawberries  as she lounges on her side in the firelight that he finally gives up, pushes the dishes away, and leans in to nibble on her instead, and she opens her arms to him and he falls into them, into her, and her touch is light and sure over his back, his hips, her nails digging into his flesh, her throat arching under his lips, and her voice is as ragged as her breath as he takes her, curled up around her back, his hands floating over her breasts and belly, cradling her and their child against him. He feels her release before she voices it, a deep shudder, the way she melts into him, and he meets it with his own, muffling his cry into her shoulder.

After, when he is no longer too boneless to move, he cleans up the plates and stows the leftover food away, while she fetches pillows and settles back down onto the fur, backlit by the fire. When he sinks to his knees next to her, he discovers Loki’s more usual form smiling up at him, all long lines and sharp cheekbones and looking just as delicious. He grins at the look on Sitwell’s face, then pulls him in for another kiss.

“Can’t let you get used to it, can I?” he murmurs against Sitwell’s mouth, and Sitwell laughs right back at him, then wraps an arm over him, closes his eyes, and breathes in the scent of him, and thinks, he’s happier than he’s ever been. And it’s good.

 


End file.
